My eyes were red and puffy by the time I got to the makeup counter yesterday.
I had been on the phone with a friend—a longtime confidante who knew all about the rash of issues I’d been having lately—and I was weeping uncontrollably, each tear punctuated by hiccups. My boyfriend was at a concert, and it seemed pointless to talk to him had he even picked up my calls. People gave me strange looks, and when a security guard gave my bag an over-aggressive tug while the strap was still hanging on my shoulder, I snapped.
“Why are you picking on me when you didn’t even check her bag?” I demanded, pointing at the woman ahead of me.
He looked embarrassed for a moment, then his face clouded. Raising his voice enough for everyone to hear, he berated me for moving too fast. “But you pulled my bag while I was still holding it!” I argued. It was useless, so I went into the mall before he could go on a power-tripping kick that would get me thrown out of the mall.
A minute later, the tears started falling. I had a difficult day—a difficult week, a difficult month—and it took a small altercation with a security guard to push me over the edge. But I had to get ready to tape a show in an hour, and I looked like a mess. I certainly didn’t want to do my own makeup, so I went over to the Shu Uemura counter (my favorite makeup brand since college). The brand assistant looked startled when I set my bags down on the counter.
“Please make me look decent,” I begged her.
She nodded, taking in the puffy eyes, the blotchy complexion, the disheveled hair. Picking out brushes and little pots of color, she set them down one by one on the clean white counter. A pat here, a swipe there—30 minutes later, she made my face an even mask, with spots of color and shimmer brightening areas that had previously seemed lifeless. In the meantime, I had calmed down considerably and was ready for a PR blitz on camera.
Some people will not leave the house without makeup on if they can help it. My mom and aunt, in particular, cannot comprehend how I can get out and face people without a trace of lipstick. They have also repeatedly pointed out in the past that I get a pile of makeup for free, and that I should use it. Other people, like my boyfriend, prefer the barefaced look. J reminds me on a regular basis that he isn’t a big fan of makeup.
I take all comments with a grain of salt. I love playing with makeup, but on most days, I don’t apply anything after slathering on tinted sunscreen. But when I feel up to it, I bring out the big guns and experiment with color and texture. Kohl-rimmed eyes, red lips, Korean-style eye makeup, pink blush… I’ve tried them all. There are days when I treat makeup like crayons—mixing colors, blending, playing with different looks. Then I wash everything off after I’ve had my fun.
But there are also some days like yesterday, when makeup acts as a mask: a buffer between me and the real world. Going out in a raw state was more than I could handle, and it took a little swipe of lipstick to give me the courage I needed to head back out into the ring.
To this harlequinade
I wear black tights and fool’s cap
Billiken, make me three bright masks
For the three tasks in my life.
Whatever it is you’re going through, it too shall pass.